


Three Words.

by dandelionweekes



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionweekes/pseuds/dandelionweekes
Summary: The Losers had done it; they had defeated Pennywise, but not without Eddie sustaining a large, life threatening injury. He's taken to a hospital, and ultimately survives, so now there's only one thing left for Richie to do. Say those three words.Edit: there a few typos from when i transferred this from google docs to here and had to change the spacing so,,, yeehaw im sorry but also when you paste things in the spaces are so big and it's IRRITATING so i had to fix it





	Three Words.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work on here, and I hope you like it. I've been writing fanficiton since 2015, but I stopped for awhile do to lack of motivation. Also because I used to post on wattpad...and that placed pretty much died (for me). 
> 
> After watching It Ch 2 (I'm watching it for the fourth time right now, haha), Reddie is pretty much all I can think about. They didn't get what they deserved, and as a hopeless romantic, that makes me really fucking sad. So. Here I am. I'm also gonna write a shitty Reddie PWP high school AU for some fluff...so...yeah! Hope you like this!

Eddie had survived. 

Somehow, as everything was collapsing around them, the Loser’s had managed to pull his limp body up to the surface. They had laid him down on the ground, and Richie remembered watching, helpless, as he bled profusely from his wound. 

Mike had promptly called an ambulance as the others came up with an explanation for Eddie’s injury. After all, they couldn’t tell the EMTs that they had just had an intense battle with a shapeshifting alien murder clown, that, on top of it all, was trying to eat the people of Derry. That simply wouldn’t fly. Even Richie, in his state of absolute delirium, knew this. 

“Bowers!” Beverly suggested after a moment of silence had fallen between the group. “We can always just say Bowers did. He’s dead; he can’t object.” She said matter-of-factly. 

Bill thought about this for a few seconds, and Mike was telling the 911 operators their location. “B-but Bowers’ body is s-still at the library,” he pointed out, “and p-plus he’s been dead for a good f-f-few hours. Eddie’s wound is f-fesh.”    
  
Beverly blinked for a long moment. She looked beaten down, like the personification of exhaustion. “Right,” she said, “we’ll just say that we don’t know who did it; that’s our best option.”

And Richie, sitting hunched over Eddie’s body, couldn’t believe that they were discussing this. He couldn’t believe that Eddie was laying below him, bleeding out, and he wasn’t doing anything about it but staring. And by this point, Eddie was passed out, and Richie could barely hear sirens screeching in the distance.

It all felt like a nightmare, but it was real. Palpable. No matter how many times Richie blinked, things didn’t disintegrate away. He didn’t wake up in his bed alone, sweating bullets. He was still there, looking down on Eddie. 

“R-Richie, you hear?” Bill asked, “If anyone asks, Eddie was randomly attacked. 

Riche didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up from Eddie. He simply blinked away tears, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“_R-R-Richie_\---” Bill repeated, but he was quickly cut off by Ben, who pulled him aside to whisper something into his ear. Richie couldn’t make out what, but he also didn’t quite care. 

Soon, Bill, Beverly, and Ben had departed, Ben claiming that it would be less suspicious if only a few people were there. Mike agreed and waved them off before sitting down next to Richie.

He lifted a tentative hand up to Richie’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay,” he assured him, and still, Richie did not shift his gaze. He kept it firmly on Eddie who laid there, dying.

And then, it was hard not to be mad at Mike, Richie thought, still scanning the pale face of Eddie, who was just barely breathing. It was hard not to blame this all on him, because after all, it was  _ his _ idea to call them all up. If he hadn’t, well, perhaps Eddie would not having been bleeding out on the ground. 

Only a few moments later is when the ambulance arrived, and as they loaded Eddie up onto a stretcher, an EMT asked Richie what exactly had happened, her face scrunching up as he considered Eddie’s wound. 

“He was attacked,” Mike cut in, knowing that Richie simply wouldn’t have the heart to answer. “We didn’t see by who, though.” 

-

In the ambulance, Eddie’s heart had stopped three times. Once for every word that Richie wished that he would’ve said to Eddie when he was leaning over him, beaming because he thought that he had defeated Pennywise. 

Three times. Once for every word that Richie wished that he would’ve said to Eddie when they saw each other in that restaurant for the first time in twenty-seven years. When he was sixteen and slow dancing with him in Bill’s bedroom, but was too afraid that if he admitted his feelings, they would be taken as a joke. When he was thirteen and adjusting his glasses nervously as Eddie sharply gulped in the medicine from his inhaler after he had had an asthma. 

For years, he had wished that he could work up the courage to say those three words, and for years, he had disappointed himself. And even when Eddie was hanging over him, impaled by one of Pennywise’s legs, he was still too much of a coward to say it. 

Hours later, Eddie was stable, and as he laid in the hospital bed, heart monitor beeping, tubes connected to him by needles. Richie felt that he had to keep his eyes locked on him constantly, otherwise he might disappear. 

The night grew closer and closer by the moment, and nurses came in and out of Eddie’s room, checking his vitals, and each time they did, they’d give Richie a sympathetic glance before moving on with their work. He sat in the hospital’s cushioned chair stiffly for minutes, then hours, then days. On the third day that he was sitting there, Eddie’s doctor came into the room and calmly asked him to leave. Richie refused. He was asked again, and he simply gave the doctor this tired, drained look that said  _ I’m not leaving him here alone _ . The doctor relented. 

It was on the fifth day that Eddie awoke, and when he did, it was dark inside of his room, and Richie was asleep. After not sleeping for four days, he simply could not keep his eyes open any longer, and his resolve had started to fade away. As Eddie scanned his features in the dark, he felt immensely grateful that Richie was the first thing that he saw once he awoke, but then, a sharp hunger pain stabbed at his stomach pulled his attention away from Richie, making him slap the bright red button that notified the nurses of the fact that he was in need.

Soon, the lights in the hospital room were being flicked on and a few nurses rushed in. Richie woke up at the abrupt change of pace, slipping off of his chair slightly as his hand flew up to adjust his glasses. 

“You’re awake!” a plump nurse with auburn curls exclaimed. 

Eddie forced a weak smile, “And hungry,” he mentioned, his voice small and raspy. His face contorted as his stomach squeezed unpleasantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Richie staring at him in a dazed manner. 

“Well of course, honey!” she grinned. “You haven’t eaten in five days. I’ll get you something right away!”

After his vitals were checked, and it was confirmed that he was stable, the nurses filed out of the room quietly, leaving the lights on buzzing above the two. Silence hung in the air for a long moment before Eddie turned his head to look at Richie, and Richie stared back at him helplessly. 

“Richie,” Eddie said, voice coming out rough and crackly from underuse. 

Richie blinked at Eddie, his heart skipping a couple of beats as he did so. He couldn’t believe it. Eddie was still alive. Still with him. And he felt so very grateful---so  _ happy _ that he could jump into the air in glee, but at the same time, he was glued to his seat. 

“You look like hell.” Eddie finished, cracking a small, barely there smile. As he did so, he winced, his face scrunching up in pain from the wound on his face. 

“Eddie,” Richie finally croaked, pushing himself up so that he could rush to Eddie’s aid. He placed his fingers gently on Eddie’s face, tracing the perimeter of the injury. “Are you…” he began softly, voice low and unsure. “Does it hurt?”   
  
“It’s a stab wound, Trashmouth. ‘Course it hurts.” Eddie replied flatly, and in response, Richie flinched. “Sorry.” He apologized quickly, frowning slightly. He hadn’t meant to snap. 

“S’okay,” Richie forced what he thought was a smile, but what came out looking more like a shaky, watery grimace. He couldn’t help it, though. Like Eddie, he hadn’t eaten or showered in five days. And unlike Eddie, he had barely slept in those five days, either. Three hours. He was running on three hours of sleep. One hour for every time Eddie’s heart stopped. One for each word that he should’ve said to Eddie all those years ago. That he should’ve been saying now. 

Eddie scanned Richie’s pale features. He had dark purple circles tainting the skin under his eyes, as well as cut and scrapes everywhere from their battle with It. Not to mention he  _ stunk _ . He reeked of blood, sweat, and tears. Eddie scrunched up his nose. “In those five days that I was out, did you shower at  _ all _ ?” 

Richie stood still for a long moment before his eyebrows pulled together and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He glanced off to the side. “No,” he admitted shamefully. 

Eddie eyed him suspiciously for a good few seconds. He had never seen Richie go this long without cracking an inappropriate joke, or at the very least, addressing him with some nickname that he hated. 

“I didn’t want to leave you.” Richie said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. They were ripped and stained with dried mud and blood. 

“Right...how are the other’s---”   
  
“Eddie,” Richie cut Eddie off, sucking in a deep breath.  _ It’s now or never _ , he thought, and for the most part, he wanted it to be never. But when Eddie was lying below him bleeding out, when his heart stopped those  _ three times _ , he felt absolute agony begin to strangle him as he choked back tears. Because yes, Richie was a coward, but more than anything, he was in love. 

Eddie blinked expectantly. 

“Eddie, I love you.” Richie’s features grew fearful as he braced himself for Eddie to start yelling. Or for him to call him some slur, or maybe even brush it off as another one of Richie’s jokes. He screwed his eyes shut tightly...waiting...waiting...waiting. But only silence greeted him, so he opened his eyes to find Eddie staring at him with large, curious eyes. 

“Well,” Eddie finally spoke, “I love you, too, Rich.” 

Richie swallowed, he didn’t think he got it, and he couldn’t believe that he was going to have to explain. But before he could, he was cut off by the hospital room door opening. The nurse with the auburn hair was smiling brightly at the two as she shuffled into the room, carrying a large tray of food. 

“Here you go, dear,” she said, setting the tray down on Eddie’s lap. “And if there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to call.” 

Eddie smiled politely, “Will do…” and once she walked off, he began digging into the food. 

Richie watched him for a moment, his eyes soft and slack, red and puffy from lack of sleep and hours of crying. “Eddie,” he tried once more. 

Eddie turned to him, holding up a large, plump strawberry. “Strawberry?” he offered.

Richie simply looked at him. He was so tired. 

“Okay,” Eddie shrugged, “suit yourself.” 

“Eddie, I’m in  _ love  _ with you.” Richie finally spat out, leaning forward onto the balls of his toes. He bit his bottom lip, nibbling on the dry skin as he waited for Eddie’s response. 

And then finally,  _ finally _ , after a painstaking few seconds of Eddie munching away on that  _ stupid _ strawberry, he sighed, his arms going limp at his side. “I know, Richie.” 

Richie’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open in shock. “You  _ know _ !?”

“Everyone knows,” Eddie sighed again, frowning. His eyes were deep and rich in thought. “I just...could never really tell if you were being serious or not. Couldn’t tell if you were joking or flirting...Everyone told me you  _ were _ , but I was never really sure. But then...after the deadlights...seeing you there…” Eddie began picking at a cuticle to avoid Richie’s gaze. “I guess I finally realized.”

“Right.” Richie said limply, because what else was there to say? He felt stupid admitting something so large to Eddie, and then getting this kind of minor reaction. “Well...what now?” 

  
Eddie looked thoughtful for a moment, “You could kiss me.” He suggested. 

Richie’s body went rigid with shock. “ _ What _ !?”

“ _ Hey _ , I risked my life for you, Trashmouth. Is that not  _ enough _ ?” 

“No, no!” Richie held his hands up in defence. “I’m just…” he blinked. “What about Myra?” 

“I don’t---” Eddie cut himself off. “I’m not  _ happy,  _ Richie,” Eddie said, and Richie looked down at his left hand, noticing that there was no wedding band adorning his ring finger. He hadn’t remembered a time where there was. “ _ You  _ make me happy.” 

Richie stood still for a long moment, just staring at Eddie. “Okay,” he said, thinking over Eddie’s words. “Okay.” He repeated. 

“Richie---” Eddie began, but he was cut off quickly by Richie leaning forward, pressing his lips to his own with an even, yet gentle, pressure. 

Eddie leaned up into the kiss, moving his lips against Richie’s in a slow, almost unsure manner. Richie’s hand slid under Eddie’s jawline, and his thumb was coming up to rub softly again Eddie’s skin, just under the stab wound. 

Richie couldn’t count all of the times that he had imagined this scenario. Back when he was a kid, he would float off into his daydreams, imagining him and Eddie kissing under a large oak tree at sunset, or at some school dance, or maybe while playing seven minutes in heaven at some lame party. He never imagined it this way, but this was perfect. More perfect than any scenario that he could have thought up. 

Eddie tasted of the strawberries and cheap chocolate pudding that the hospital had provided him. His lips were chapped from being unconscious for five days, yet surprisingly soft. His movements were a little shaky and hesitant, but flawless nonetheless. 

After a moment, they both pulled away, catching their breaths. 

Eddie’s nose wrinkled up, “You need to shower.” He commented. 

For the first time in almost a week, Richie laughed something light and genuine, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. “I know.” 

“Well...why don’t you?” Eddie said as he turned his attention back to the hospital food. He shoveled less than appetizing looking mashed potatoes into his mouth eagerly. 

“I don’t...want to leave you here. Alone.” Richie briefly thought about how the rest of the Losers tried to make him leave Eddie down in the sewers all alone as everything collapsed around them. He kind of wanted to deck them all in the face. 

“I’m a big boy, Tozier,” Eddie replied, raising his eyebrows. “I can take care of myself.” 

After a good twenty minutes of convincing, Richie finally left to regroup back at his hotel room so that he could change, shower, and brush his teeth. He tried to complete the tasks as quickly as he could. He was still afraid that Eddie would disappear on him. 

By the time he made it back, it was five forty-two in the morning, and he was so sleep deprived and hungry that he almost ran his car off of the road, but he didn’t, and that’s all that mattered. Because that meant that he got to see Eddie, and be with Eddie, and touch Eddie, and  _ kiss  _ Eddie. 

And _fuck_, he was so in love. So in love that it was _crazy_, but for once he felt that the feeling was mutual, and that meant more to him than anything else. When he arrived back at the hospital and walked swiftly into Eddie’s room, he smiled down on the smaller man who was watching a football game on the TV mounted on the wall across from him. 

“I’m clean.” Richie informed. He followed Eddie’s gaze to the TV. “Football?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing.

“There’s nothing else to watch.” 

“Well, maybe we should just talk.” Richie suggested, taking the remote from Eddie’s bedside table so that he could turn the TV off. 

“About…?” Eddie glanced up at Richie, who’s eyes were soft with adoration. 

“How much you love me?” Richie filled in playfully. His hands came to curl around the edge of Eddie’s bed, and he leaned forward, smiling in a wildly charming manner. “Or how badly you want to kiss me again?”   
  
Eddie glared. “Don’t push your luck---” but he was cut off, once again, by Richie pressing a kiss to his lips. Richie decided that he really liked doing that.

Despite Eddie’s snarky reply to Richie’s request, he didn’t seem to protest the kiss. Instead, his hands came up to either side of Richie’s face. Richie’s dark curls were messy from the shower, and they flopped over onto Eddie’s forehead. The scent of cheap, spicy shampoo wafted down into Eddie’s nose, and he couldn’t help but to deepen the kiss as best as he could, what with a stab wound on his face and all. 

Richie pulled away soon, looking dazed and far away for a moment before he smiled softly. “Am I dreaming?” he questioned in an enchanted manner. “Or did I really just kiss Eddie Kaspbrak for the  _ second _ time today.”   
  
“You’re dreaming,” Eddie replied, but the words were quiet and gentle and there was a small, careful smile adorning his face. 

-

Richie had taken Eddie back to California with him, which did not bode well for Myra, who was promptly told that she and Eddie were getting a divorce as soon as she picked up the phone to answer his call. 

“A  _ divorce _ !?” she shouted in disbelief, her voice coming out shrill and crackly through the phone. 

Eddie’s features scrunched up as he pulled the phone away from his ear. When he pressed the device back up against his face, he sighed, shifting in the wooden chair that he was sitting in. “Yes, a divorce.” He confirmed. 

Behind him, Richie was standing still, watching the conversation unfold with careful eyes. He was sipping on a glass of whiskey, neat, and Eddie thought that at twelve PM, it was all too early in the day for someone to be drinking whiskey. He’d have to scold Richie about that later. 

“ _ Why _ ? Do you not  _ love me anymore _ ?” 

Eddie wondered if he really ever had, but he didn’t want to admit that now. So he just settled on sighing and saying, “That’s not really relevant. My circumstances have changed---” 

“Did you meet another woman?” Myra pressed, and Eddie blinked at the question then turned to look at Richie, who, in turn, raised his eyebrows and smiled innocently. He was the reason Eddie’s marriage was coming to a close, but really...Eddie wasn’t all that mad about it. Really, he thought, it was time for him to be happy, and it took almost dying for him to realize that. 

“No.” Not another woman, no. 

“Then what  _ is _ it? Why are you doing this?” Myra bellowed.

“Because I have to.” 

After a long few minutes of Eddie and Myra going back and forth, the conversation finally ended. Eddie set his phone down with an aggravated noise, and Richie came up behind him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. 

“It’ll be okay, Eds,” he mumbled into Eddie’s hair, smiling as he inhaled. Eddie smelled like candy and apples and all things sweet. 

For once, Eddie couldn’t find it within himself to quip about how he didn’t want Richie to call him that. He simply let out a tense breath and leaned into Richie’s touch. He couldn’t believe that he had gotten this lucky. 

“Richie?”    
  
“Hmm…?” Richie hummed, face still buried in Eddie’s hair.

“I love you.” Eddie said. 

Three words. 

One for each time that his heart had stopped. 


End file.
